Ultimata
by jkwasher
Summary: Sometimes a dream of what you think you want is only a signpost to what you really want.


_**A/N: Written about a month ago, when the cliffhanger was really bothering me. My vision, if the cliffhanger was not a dream. I thought if Walt did eventually have sex with Donna, it would not prove very satisfactory. In this version, he has a double-dose of Donna's displeasure.**_

 _ **I've recently lost cartilage in both knees and started using a walker, so I haven't been writing as much lately. I have the last installment of Rememorized almost finished and should pub soon. We shall see very soon what S5 brings!**_

 _ **Longmire, own nothing, free to imagine.**_

 **ULTIMATA**

It was one of those dreams you try to escape, almost a Twilight Zone moment. One of those where you might die if you don't leave.

That night he had finally coaxed Donna back to the cabin for the first time since the invasion, and after a few preliminaries, they eventually had sex. He'd been a little disappointed, but how could he be? Sex was always good for a guy, gave release, wound things down a little, provided that temporary euphoria. Except…

Except this seemed more temporary than he remembered. He'd tried to please her, but like everything else between them, they seemed at odds and without understanding or the ability to work together. He knew she'd finally found release, he could sense at least that much, but beyond the obvious physical gratification, he was mystified. Donna hadn't wanted holding or talk, and just rolled away. He'd backed off, and finally sleep had overwhelmed him.

Well, of course Donna appeared to him in the first dream, without the warmth and feisty mouth of Vic's typical appearance there.

Donna wore the same dress as in the dream which had started it all. She stood in the kitchen, looking severely at him. He stood only in his boxers, which left him feeling at a disadvantage, somehow more exposed than when they'd been in bed together.

"Didn't you learn anything?" Her voice was sharp, hard.

He didn't have to feign a blank stare.

"Learn?"

"About people, about life. How easy it is to muck it all up."

"I've mucked it up with you, already?"

"Of course…what was that tonight? Your head was miles away."

Oh, that. His head was often miles away. Vic seemed to understand that, pull back when he needed space. Lately, he had done more when he needed room, pushed her away so she wouldn't see the real him. Why? To protect her from the man he had become that day on the airfield. A stone cold killer, if Henry had not intervened. He still felt the need to protect her, but to do that, he couldn't be with her.

"You're even thinking about her now, right?"

What was this, a telepathic dream?

"Who?"

"Vic. You think you're protecting her from you."

His lips pressed together. It was truth, his truth, but he had never shared that with non-dream Donna. She had told him more than once he was holding back. Well, of course he was. He couldn't reveal _that_ without betraying Henry and starting what Branch had called a cascade failure. Branch had been too smart by half.

"You don't know that."

She laughed, harsh and shrill, which made the hair on his forearms stand up. "I'm a dream, of _course_ I know that."

"Well, since you already know everything, what now?"

"What now. What now is, either you fire Vic or we break up. I won't accept half-measures like earlier tonight."

That, _that_ had been half-measures? He'd had his work cut out for him to get a response from her. He wasn't hard now, but felt like he should just shrivel into a tiny cocktail sausage and go hide in his pillow, since she was intimating she hadn't enjoyed it. Well, he hadn't really either, had he?

"There's more to sex than physical pleasure, Walt. Duh."

And the dream popped, he sat up, desperate for breath. Next to him, Donna slept turned away from him. His first urge was to retreat to the haven of the station office, but of course he couldn't, that would be bad form. He reached for her, for some comfort, but she wrestled away, maybe secure in her own dreams.

It was one of the loneliest nights of his life. He finally drifted off to a far more endearing vision of Vic calling him a _Fucking Shithead_ , and was finally able to sleep. He could hear her but not find her in the darkness, and called out for her, of course with no reply.

In the morning, he was up early, showered and made breakfast. He went down to feed Horse, and when he came back, Donna was dressed, in the kitchen with her back to the counter, holding a cup of coffee. She had the lacy blouse and trousers on she'd worn the night before when he'd picked her up at the VA Center. At his entrance, she sucked her cheeks in, what he thought of as a prim schoolmarm look.

"So?" She sent him the challenge clear across the room.

Oh, no. He attempted humor. "So, Horse was hungry, and so am I." A small lie, his stomach was doing flip-flops. "I made pancakes and eggs, they're in the covered skillet to keep warm."

"I don't eat eggs or pancakes. Coffee is fine. But you didn't answer me. Deflection, Walt."

"I didn't understand the question."

"I'll repeat the entire question. What was that last night?"

The dream intruded from his psyche and he almost wanted to be sick.

"That was…us learning to enjoy each other?" he ventured. Hoping it was the right answer.

"You were somewhere else, Walt, with someone else. Not with me."

Uh-oh. Dream intrusion. All the lights and sirens were going, now. He was in trouble.

"Well, that would be who I am. A disturbed, serial murderer once called me an Unquiet Mind, said I required quiet and solitude to survive."

She made a displeased noise. "It's already too quiet out here, but _worse…_ indulging that when you're with a woman?"

He licked his lips. He moved closer, put a hand over hers around her cup, and tried again. "I know it took a while, but it sure felt like you enjoyed it…"

"Of course. It was mechanical but effective. You said about three words during."

"Oh." It was the opposite of relief. She suddenly realized he didn't talk much? _Now_ , she realized that?

"The only words out of your mouth later were _Vic! Vic!_ in the middle of the night."

Oh, so, _that_ was what this was all about. The Vic Fucking Shithead Comfort Dream he had held to him like a pillow had betrayed him.

He shook his head. "I don't know what to say."

"I know you don't, so I'll say it. You have to choose: Vic or me. It's that simple, Walt. Fire her or we stop seeing one another."

All the air in the room had sudden escaped. He almost understood the concept of panic attacks. Now was when he could really use Henry's dream interpretation, when a dream became a reality. Two ultimatums in one night. Or was it ultimata? Yep, in Latin, the plural. High school Latin beaten into his brain, alongside Henry. They had praticed cussing at each other in Latin one winter. Maybe he should try one of those on Vic, sometime. Et tu, Brute?

He finally regrouped in his head enough to respond.

"Vic? What has Vic done?"

"What _hasn't_ she done? You said she oversteps your authority, curses at the electorate and runs rough-shod on the prisoners. You said you almost last the last election because of her."

"She's a good deputy." His precís of her remained stout and secure, while knowing that was an inconsequential part of the argument, "best deputy I've ever had. Great at research and police work, and totally fearless and loyal. She's saved my life more than once."

"You're in love with her." Donna said it as though discovering a particularly loathsome spider in her pantry. "You're _defending_ her."

"Donna, I'm her boss, and I'm not going to fire her for nothing. That'll just join that wrongful-death lawsuit to a sexist lawsuit smorgasbord. Vic has done nothing wrong." _Other than hiring Hector, and then willing to take the fall to protect me._ Still, she had saved his life and stayed loyal for four years, even after he knowingly pushed her away. He still felt the amazement at her standing up to the Mexican assassin to save him, and coming back for him after the duel with Chance Gilbert.

"Then there's nothing more to say."

"Donna, let me make it up to you—"

Her voice was frosty as the morning. "I doubt that you can."

The trip into town was made in nearly complete silence. He didn't offer Donna everything, because he didn't have that to give. She obviously didn't want what he did have at the moment.

Vic wasn't in after he made it up the stairs through the public area. He often went that way to see Ruby and pick up his messages, but more often just because Vic might be there, eyes rolling, brows furrowed on some intense phone conversation, or just doing paperwork. Lately it seemed like she had been avoiding his company. He couldn't really blame her after putting her in her place in the alley. What a terrible mistake that had been, even worse if she believed him.

"Where's Vic?" he asked, although he didn't mean to. Then he realized that Ferg wasn't there, either.

"Out with Ferg. A disturbance at the Fitzmueller home."

"Oh. Any calls I need to take?"

"The Doc called about ten minutes ago."

"I meant, like ones I need to go out on."

"You just want to avoid the paperwork, Walter. Be a good boy and catch up on it while you can, and I'll see if I can find you a nice juicy call for later."

One corner of his mouth tilted up. "Thanks, Ruby. Oh, and if Vic wants to come, that would be great."

"You haven't noticed?"

"Noticed what?"

"She's taking more calls on her own or with Ferg?"

"What," he tried the joking thing again, "She doesn't want to ride with me, anymore?"

Ruby shrugged. "You said it, I didn't."

Could his day get worse? Donna's ultimatum, paperwork, Vic not wanting to ride with him?

It could. Two hours later, his office was filled with attorneys. Well, three attorneys, two more than usually ever visited.

Jim, his regular attorney, began. "The suit has a shadow sponsor, and if we don't find out who it is, the judge might very well rule in their favor for it to go forward. There are a lot of damning accusations in there."

He was so tired of it. "We've been through them all—"

"Yes, yes, I know, and it's probably how Wyoming law enforcement can even function with limited resources and the huge expanse we cover, but this thing—this duel you got into?

"At least two murdered, one SHP law enforcement I witnessed, one Federal census agent I found in a freezer. My deputy and her husband hostages. I was alone—"

His younger cohort Ted spoke up. "And you didn't call for backup. There are an awful lot of accusations, and I'm trying to figure out how they knew about any of that."

#3 chimed in. "That bothered us, too, so we brought in the FBI to assist us searching the premises for bugs. They didn't find any."

Jim revealed the real reason they were there. "And you trust your personnel?"

"I do."

Jim looked uncomfortable at that answer, but continued. "Walt, something's going to have to break. The legal fees alone are eating up county resources. The possibility that the judge will award the suit "standing" simply because of the quantity of accusations, is a real possibility, even though a normal suit of this sort would be dismissed because the plaintiff has no standing."

He nodded. He knew that, but it was just another terrible moment in a terrible day.

As he escorted the men out, he saw that Ferg and Vic were back, studiously ignoring the men and typing furiously. Vic looked over to him, that wary, _I know_ _it's not my business_ look she had worn since the alley. The _you're no longer my friend_ look. He hated it.

He felt like shit.

Ruby piped up from the end of the room.

"Walter! Filling station robbery at the Chevron two miles north of Powder Junction!"

He ran back in for hat and jacket, and was on his way out, didn't even have to think. "Vic! With me!"

He barely noticed the shrug Ferg gave to Vic, who looked startled, but jumped up, grabbed her duty jacket and coffee and followed.

You knew things were pretty bad when responding to a filling station robbery with Vic became the high point of the day.

XXX

By the time they reached that end of the county, the robbery had gone cold, but they diligently processed the scene. He noted when Vic began to flag hours later. The sun was going down.

"C'mon. We'll head back. I'll buy you dinner at the Pony if you want, to celebrate the O.T."

She made a face and shook her head. "Cady's is fine."

He winced. She never called it home, always Cady's. It had been a temporary thing at one time, now no one discussed it.

"Vic—"

"Alley, Walt."

She used it like a Safe Word, a coded shield to wrap about her. It was the word he associated with it which always stopped him. Guilt, from the day he had told her his personal life was none of her business. He knew why he had done it, of course. He could not have a personal relationship with her while this lawsuit hung over them, and didn't want to reveal to her that for one afternoon he had turned into a monster befitting Mary Shelley's Frankenstein. So he had pursued Donna to deepen the fissure between himself and Vic. It had almost worked, until this morning. Or last night, when he had been trying to find Vic in the dreamdark.

 _You have to choose: Vic or me._

And any sanitized version of his life had just gone skittering off the rails.

"You have to eat."

"But I don't have to eat with _you._ "

Ouch. The joking thing just wasn't working today.

"I miss working together, Vic. Last night I even dreamed you called me a Shithead."

"Not cool, Walt, since Donna was there."

What was this, the reality form of Telepathy Central?

"Why would—"

Ferg said he saw you driving her out toward the cabin. Ferg said he waved."

Ferg _had_ waved. He'd forgotten, forgotten how sharp Ferg was. He didn't miss much.

"Oh."

"Yeah. Just don't try your shit with me tonight."

He couldn't tell her, he couldn't tell her…

"Not mine, Donna gave me an ultimatum to fire you. Her or you."

Disbelief. The disbelieving eyes, beyond hurt or reproach, more to hatred. "She _what_?"

"I told her I wouldn't, of course,, that you're the best deputy I've ever had."

"What fucking right does she have to tell you what to do?" The indignant tone superseded the other.

"I told her I wouldn't fire you." He thought there, that should comfort her.

"Fuckin' right you won't, I _quit_. Stop. Stop here."

"Vic—"

"Pull over, or I jump out."

He pulled over immediately. The one time she'd said that before, she'd almost fallen out of it retching. Flu or hangover, he'd always wondered which, but it had make him always take her seriously.

This time, she hopped out and began walking toward Durant.

"Vic, no! It's still ten miles!"

"Send Ferg. I'll be glad to ride with him."

"No. You're being…" He tried for a word, failed. Childish, jealous, none of those seemed appropriate. She was conforming to Donna's wishes. She was leaving him to return to Donna, tail between his legs, to see if what they had was salvageable.

It was that moment he realized she loved him, because she thought he loved Donna, and he would only be happy with the Doctor. She was sacrificing herself. The enormity of that bowled him over, and he gunned the Bronco to life.

He pulled beyond her, put the car across the road, and slid out.

"No, let's talk about this." He strode forward as she passed him, before moderating it to a shorter gait to match hers.

"That's a laugh," she scoffed.

He got closer, almost close enough. He'd put her in a wristlock if he had to, he wouldn't let her exhaust herself after dark, after working all day processing the scene, in the chill night.

"You don't have to talk. You don't talk." He could hear how furious she was.

A little closer…

"You leave me to interpret ambiguous statements and—"

He couldn't help it, when he reached for her wrist, her face turned to his and he felt himself drawn in, saw the widening of her eyes, smelled her floral shampoo. He leaned in and kissed her. Not a mere brush of the lips, not a forehead kiss, but a good old liplock with a little tongue thrown in for good measure. It was anti-Donna. It was…heaven.

She tried to block him with her hands, but he already had them, so she pulled back.

"You Fucking Shithead!" she said, and fonder words he'd never thought to hear.

He blocked her leg when she tried to kick at him. He almost laughed and pulled her closer, until he realized she was crying, and, stricken, dropped both her wrists as though they'd caught fire. She immediately pulled back and away.

"How could you do that?" She attempted to scrub away the tears with her forearm, her breathing ragged. "Come on to me after her."

"Because I have good dreams of you, nightmares of her."

"You are so fucked up."

"So Donna says." It came out wry and he didn't mean to say the name to set Vic off again, but he did anyway. He stood there helplessly, then gave into his inclination and gently pulled her close, resting her head on his shoulder, cupping the back of her hair with his paw. Tears, snot, he didn't care. He'd had worse there. He rocked her back and forth and she cried copiously.

"Vic…" He had to tell her. "It's because of Jacob. I couldn't tell you."

She swiped at her eyes and nose, leaving a messy trail. "Tell me what?"

"Tell you…" He took a bracing breath. "That I went after Jacob at an airfield."

"Oh, that."

"Oh, _that?"_

"Henry told me you were headed after Jacob when I was at the cabin."

"You were at the cabin?"

"Unbuttoned and with beer. Why I'm quitting. You asked me to stay, but I can't stay with her. I can't."

"Unbut-" He couldn't manage any more. He finally spoke, pleading. "Give me two weeks. I won't accept your resignation tonight. Think of it as giving me two weeks' notice. I want to make it right." He added, "Remembered when I told you, maybe it's important to get it right, just once?"

Muffled against his chest, he felt her slowly nod.

"Well, I haven't yet, and I know it."

She shrugged against him.

He leaned down and his lips brushed hers.

"Not your shit, Walt." But she was whispering, now.

"No, not my shit. I'm pretty confident when I tell her I haven't fired you that she'll break up with me."

"You didn't fire me. I quit." Her voice was husky and low against his chest.

"Especially after I tell her that."

He felt her shift in his arms, restless. "So what was it, Walt, the sex wasn't that great?"

He started. More of Telepaths Unlimited going around?

"Why do you say that?"

"Because you just kissed me."

"I've wanted to do more than that for four ye—"

She grabbed his chin, glared at him. "Then why the fuck haven't you?"

He shook his shaggy head, a prehistoric creature venturing from the bog. "Henry, then Branch. The lawsuit."

"If I stick around, you'd just make something else up."

"What's the alternative?" He felt despair in his belly. She would leave.

"To act." Her fingers captured his jaw, then they moved to his neck and she began to nibble his jaw, his ear, his neck, and work at his throat, his chest, on their way down.

He gasped. "I thought—"

And then her tongue was in his mouth, her hands were exploring what was for them equally uncharted territory and lust surged through him. _There was the lust missing last night…_ Last night had been like an amateur performance and he got a check-mark for being adequate.

But this… He was on fire.

She ripped the pearl snaps open without a word, and began to move her hands everywhere. He found himself back-walking and almost shimmying her toward the Bronco. Dead Guy blanket, the once-priceless gift from Henry, was clean and hadn't been used lately. He tossed it onto the Bronco floor as her hands explored his bare chest, and delved lower. He gasped as she reached for his buckle, then hers.

Four minutes later, and he fought for breath, ecstatic soft little noises against his neck and ear. He rocked her, legs wrapped around his waist and lying on the blanket, her lower half marginally cleared for access, her boots thrown in the back, pants on the pile, while he hammered away, his fingers doing deft things to make those breathy noises move higher and faster.

There was shouting, it was him, he dimly realized, and she was crying out, still and again. When peace consumed them both, he rolled to his side in the back of the Bronco, gathering her to him.

It took a long time for their breathing to return to normal. He bent his head and rubbed his cheek against her forehead.

Her voice came out as a whisper. "What, she didn't like that? Is she fucked in the head?"

He felt one side of his mouth curve up. "She said she didn't like it, but, ah, I'm not sure that was truth. I could tell she didn't enjoy it like you did, though."

He felt her snort and grinned.

"Fucked in the head."

"Consider her officially broken up with me."

She made a little noise. "Hope she didn't swap anything with you we'll be sorry about later."

He felt a little sick at that possibility. "We can both get checked tomorrow."

"Ummm. So, what shall I put us as on my Facebook status?"

He thought about what he'd not been willing to offer Donna.

"I'd say…we're working on the getting it right just once, and make that stick first, then go for more. What would you say to that?"

"So, single." He poked her. She poked back, then pursed her lips. "Does it always have to be in the back of the Bronco? Donna got your bed, but I'm getting cold."

He rolled them both into the blanket like a double dog in the bun at the ballfield.

"Just a few more minutes and we'll head back to civilization."

Against a warbling night bird, Ruby's voice intruded. "Walt? You there?"

"Shit!" she whispered. She couldn't hear us, could she?"

He scowled, shook his head. "No, I just had it on receive. In case."

"In case what?"

"In case I had to call Officer Down—you know, pissed off deputy."

"Hmmmmph."

"Stay with me at the cabin, tonight."

"No Donna?"

"Promise, cross my heart not."

She pouted a little. He found her ribs with his fingers.

"No tickling or no sex!"

His hands innocently came up into the air like he'd roped a calf.

"Ah-ha." She chuckled, sighed, then was asleep snuggled against him.

He very carefully extricated himself and went to the radio up front, took the mike.

"Ruby?"

"Yes, Walter. I'm on evening shift, tonight."

"Do we have a call?"

"Nope, just wanted to alert you that your action switch must have popped to AUTO ON again."

He had a bad feeling about that.

"Oh." He was afraid to say anything more.

"Congratulations."

"Oh."

"Oh, and the Doc called and said you need to find another therapist."

Relief flowed through him. He'd been thinking much the same thing.

"So, maybe pop that switch back and go keep her warm. It's turning chilly, tonight."

"Yes, ma'am," but he could feel his cheeks flame.

Ruby truly missed nothing.

"Walt…?" Vic, drowsy, from the back of the Bronco. "Was that Ruby? Do we have a call?"

He popped the switch, backed away and let the door shut, came back, burrowed under the blanket and took her in his arms.

"Nope, we're on our own."

"Good. I like your company." She reached for him, ran her hand down his unbuttoned jeans, and he reared against her in spite of himself. Who knew he'd have that sort of reaction so soon after? It sure hadn't worked like that with Donna.

"Let's go where it's warm and we have some room," he coaxed.

"You have clean sheets?" she asked, eyes narrowed and glinting in the darkness.

Well, no, he didn't. She didn't say anything like, "I doubt you can," though.

She sighed. "Of course not, but we could just lie in front of the fireplace." Her voice was wistful.

Instead of sore bones, he thought of layers of foam and a comforter he could put there, and of the woman who lay so sweetly wrapped about him.

"You bet."

"And we wash sheets tomorrow?"

He wanted to laugh, to shout. This would work. Together, they would _make_ it work.

"And go in late?"

He made a warning noise deep in his throat.

She sat up laughing, which came out as an odd noise creaking from the hard bed of the Bronco. "Oh, well, it was worth a try." She was grinning. Much better than tears.

For him, this once was right, and for the moment, it was more than enough.


End file.
